Hold On
by Incarnadine
Summary: For weeks now, Draco Malfoy has been unconscious, and everyone except the faithful Ginny has given up hope for him. But does she hope in vain? DracoGinny. Complete
1. Hold On

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. But that doesn't mean that I can't play with their emotions. The idea is mine, the words are mine, the people and places belong to the immortal genius of JK Rowling.**

**Author's Note: This is dedicated to Maggie and Rowena, without whom I would never even have dreamed of writing any fanfics, let alone a D/G.**

**Oh, and this Act is from Ginny's point of view. The other three Acts will be a mixture of Ginny and Draco's perspectives.**

_**Act One**_

_**Hold On**_

"_Hold on, if you feel like letting go_

_Hold on, it gets better than you know_

_Don't stop looking, you're one step closer_

_Don't stop searching, it's not over_

_Hold on"_

Good Charlotte

I sat perfectly still in the chair by the bed, hoping desperately that if I made no noise the Healer would let me stay for longer. I watched his face carefully for any sign of movement, for anything that might allow me to believe that he was coming back to me. He had been lying like this for far too long. The battle had been lost and won for weeks, and still he lay unconscious, his fair hair curling over his pale brow. His usually shining silver eyes were tight shut, mere slits in his uncannily flawless face.

He was too still. If I could not see the feeble movements of his chest I would have assumed him dead. I could not yet bring myself to accept the fact that I might lose him. The torture that had left his body unmarked but unmoving might still claim him. I didn't want to think of that. It was too cruel. I thought I had lost him once already; when I had been roaming the grounds of the Manor along with the others, searching ever more urgently for what we were all convinced would be a body.

He had been alive, but only just. And he was still that way. He hadn't stirred since the day I had found him, and even the Healers no longer knew whether to have hope or not. They would just look at me sympathetically and tell me that a lot of the effects of the Cruciatus curse were still unknown. It always made me want to scream. I didn't want to hear that they didn't know. I wanted to know if he was ever going to wake up, if I was ever going to be able to talk to him, to go places with him, even to argue with him again. I knew that I was getting desperate when I realised that I would rather be having a full scale fight with him than sitting by his bedside watching his impossibly quiet breathing.

Too much had happened already. I had lost too much to face losing him. I wanted to cry, but I had no more tears left. There was nothing left in me but a deep and hollow sadness. Half my family were dead and the rest were barely speaking to me. And he, the reason for my family's alienation, lay as if dead, in a private bed at St. Mungo's, with everyone except me waiting for him to die.

I wanted to hurt them for it. Why couldn't people forgive? Couldn't they see that even a bad man can change for the woman he loves? And he had changed for me. He would not be here in the hospital if he had not changed. He had been struck down while fighting alongside his former enemies. He didn't deserve this. The Healers checked his notes in disbelief sometimes, as if doubting which side he had been on when injured. His name still made people think _evil_. And yet he was one of the few left alive that I would happily trust my life to. He was not the same as he had once been, and he was suffering for his change of heart.

I felt a deep longing in my heart. I _needed_ to get him back. He was still alive; there was still hope. The emotion startled me with its intensity. I had never thought to feel this way about anyone. Before this had happened, the last time I had seen him truly alive, I had kissed him almost frantically, telling him that I loved him. I had said it with false conviction then, unsure if it was true. But with this feeling, this deep and terrible desire to have him alive and well, in my arms, I knew. Although I could not cry, I could hurt, and the pain told me that this was indeed love.

But the man that I had realised that I loved was still unchanged and unchanging. Could he lay like that forever? Would he do it, just to torment me? He had always been good at tormenting. Not that he had ever tormented me; before we were together, I had not been worth the effort, and after… he would turn the tables sneeringly on anyone who dared say a harsh word to me. I smiled fondly, remembering how cruelly sarcastic my Draco could be when it came to defending me. If only he would wake up, I would not care if he turned his caustic, mocking tongue on me.

I felt despair assailing my mind, the dark despair of someone who has long been denying the truth. The longer he stayed unconscious, the less likely it became that he would ever awake. And I would have lost my family for nothing. No, not nothing, for the months we had spent together were not and could never be called nothing. But I would have to live without him, and without them, and I didn't know if I was strong enough to survive.

Rising to leave as I felt the presence of the Healer at my back, I leant down and stroked the ice-white, lukewarm skin of his face, and murmured, "Hold on, Draco. I need you to come back." And then I turned from the patient's bedside and walked away, leaving the hospital with its haunting reminders of death and suffering behind me. I would return, though. I would have to return, each and every day until he woke up or until he… died.

-

-

-

The last glow of sunset caught the platinum blond hair, which actually appeared bronze for that split second. I almost smiled. He did look beautiful sometimes. But it was a pale imitation of his normal beauty, which was magnified by the force of his personality, his vanity and his arrogance. It almost made me sad to look at this shadow of my Draco, the one I remembered, the one that I longed to have back.

He was still not getting any better. True, he wasn't dead, but I still felt as if he was lying there dying in front of me. Nothing moved. Apart from his breathing the whole room was still. I looked about the room. Nothing but the best for a Malfoy, I thought, cynically. The Healers probably wanted him there as long as possible, so they could continue to drain the Malfoy vaults at Gringott's. There was an expensive-looking vase on the little table next to the bed, containing yesterday's flowers. The flowers had been expensive. This was not a good time of year to buy fresh flowers, and my hateful subconscious had tried to talk me out of getting them on the grounds that he would probably never see them.

I walked over to the vase and stroked the red petals of the beautiful camellia flowers, trying to avoid having to look at his exquisite etched features, as still as a marble statue. The flowers were his favourites. It seemed odd to think of Draco Malfoy having a favourite flower – altogether too soft and undignified of him. It was almost like a minute act of rebellion against his rigidly disciplinarian father. I had teased him for it. Lavender had told me that a gift of such a flower signified excellence, which certainly summed my Draco up – for me, anyway.

I glanced over at him from where I stood with my face framed by red blooms, and saw that his eyes were still closed. The washed out skin was still drawn taut over his delicate bone structure, and his cheek muscle was only slightly twitching. No change there then, except… that twitching… surely he hadn't been doing that before?

I abandoned the flowers and sank to my lover's side. I looked at him carefully, trying to discern if it was possible that he could be waking. I didn't want to give myself false hope, but any change, any movement could be a sign that he was coming back. It was a very tiny change, but it was movement. He was no longer deathly still; there was a sign other than his hushed breathing to show me that he was alive. How could I be so callous as not to hope?

I was barely breathing myself as I watched him. He didn't wake up, but then, I would have been a fool to expect him to. But he looked much more human, much more alive now, although unconsciousness still claimed his senses. When the Healer came in to ask me to leave, I looked strangely at Draco, and if I was not very much mistaken, I had seen the ghost of a smile on the other woman's face.

-

-

-

Looking at him, I felt an emotion that I had thought I had forgotten how to feel. Hope. The Healer had told me that he was no longer in a coma. He was unconscious, yes, but he was just asleep. Apparently he had woken up for a few minutes during the night. He was coming back. I felt sweet relief coursing through my veins, relaxing muscles that I had never even realised were tensed. My Draco was coming back. Once he woke up, he'd get better and I could take him away. All of the hope that I had refused to acknowledge in the weeks since the battle came flooding in at once, now that I knew that it was not in vain, that he was going to live.

Draco stirred. I felt a sort of apprehensive expectancy, watching him, waiting for him to give some further sign, anxious to know whether he was going to wake up for me today. His pale features seemed more relaxed than they had done over the past few weeks, as if he had been contracting them since the curse in a silent scream. I sat there, waiting, on edge. If someone had touched me then I would have screamed, so focused was I on the young man lying in the bed in front of me.

He blinked. I almost missed it the first time, so intent was my gaze. But he had opened his eyes. Even momentary consciousness was progress. And then he blinked again, opening the pale, opalescent grey eyes for longer. The look on his face was pure confusion. His gaze travelled over the room, taking in its institutional cleanliness, the red flowers and my shape by his bedside, blinking all the while.

He sat silent for a couple of minutes, and I could practically see his mind whirring creakily into motion. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he turned to me, and asked, evidently baffled, "What happened?"

The voice – his voice! – jerked me out of my trance-like state. I had been imagining it all; taking him home, finally having the life with him that I had almost despaired of for so long. I looked up at him, a genuinely happy smile taking over my freckled face for the first time in over two months.

"You got hit by the Cruciatus curse, Draco," I said, softly. "It was quite a while ago now. You've been unconscious for nearly nine weeks. I was worried about you; I thought you were never going to wake up."

Draco's cool silver eyes widened, but he said nothing. He looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in my face. He looked over at the camellias, and his lips formed a thin, tight smile, as if something finally made sense to him. Then he looked back at me, and pure puzzlement descended once again on his features.

"But who _are _you?" he asked.

I stared at him, startled, willing it not to be true. But I could read the honesty in his features, and the fear in his wide eyes, and I knew that this could be no joke. Draco Malfoy did not remember me. The forgetting frightened me as much as it frightened him. It had all been in vain. Everything had been for nothing. I could no longer take the pain. I broke down, crying the tears I had been suppressing for months. I lowered my head into my hands and sobbed my heart out, while Draco looked on in bewilderment.


	2. Fall to Pieces

**A/N: This story is going to be told in four parts now, I've decided. Thanks to Tammy, Kit, Silver 186 and monkeys rok my sox for reviews. I'm glad you liked it!**

**This chapter is told in the first person from Draco's point of view. The next two will be half Draco and half Ginny (roughly)**

_**Act Two**_

_**Fall to Pieces**_

"_I don't want to fall to pieces,_

_I just want to sit and stare at you._

_I don't want to talk about it._

_I don't want a conversation,_

_I just want to cry in front of you._

_I don't want to talk about it_

_Cause I'm in love with you."_

Avril Lavigne: _Fall to Pieces_

Boys don't cry.

Like hell they don't.

It hurt to wake up. My entire body ached, as if I'd been beaten into the ground. My head throbbed, and the light was far too bright. No sooner had I opened my eyes than I had to shut them again. I just got an impression of _whiteness_. Everything around me was white. For one crazy moment, I thought that I must have died and gone to Heaven. Then I realised that if I were in Heaven I wouldn't be in such pain. I opened my eyes again, briefly, pinching them closed when the shock of the light proved too much for my feeble eyes.

When I finally felt able to keep them open, I just stared. This was not what I had expected. The room was small, and far too clean to have any real existence. The four plain white walls were closing in on me. I wanted to struggle, to sit up, but I was just too weak and my muscles refused to obey me. I was lying in bed, blankets tucked up to my chin. I hadn't slept in a bed like this one since I was five, but at least it made sense. I was in hospital. That explained the pain, the whiteness and the strange bed. It also explained the girl sitting vigil by my bedside.

I turned to look at her. She looked a little familiar. A short redhead with a pretty face, and an almost pathetic look of hope in her caramel eyes. I frowned, trying to remember who she could be. She had to be close to me to be here, sitting with me and looking so relieved that I was awake. From what I remembered of myself, I wasn't the sort of person that many people would miss. I tried to place her. She was from school, I thought, but I was sure that I had never had any red-headed girls as friends in school.

I decided to think about her later, and took my eyes on a tour of the rest of the room. It was a small room, but at least it wasn't a public ward. Malfoys deserve only the best, after all. Perhaps not, but even if we don't deserve it, we can afford to pay for it. There was a small vase of flowers on a table near the bed. I knew them instantly. Red camellias, my favourites, a symbol of excellence. Now, these flowers had to have something to do with the unnamed girl. If she had brought them, she must have known me pretty well. So how come I couldn't remember her?

I thought that if I heard her voice, it might trigger something, so I just asked, trying to choke the words out, "What happened?"

She started, as if she hadn't been expecting me to speak to her. She lifted her face to look at me, a smile radiating from her delicate features. "You got hit by the Cruciatus curse, Draco," she replied. I frowned. When had _that_ been? The girl had just called me by my first name, so we had to be close. But even hearing her voice didn't make me remember. She continued, "It was quite a while ago now. You've been unconscious for nearly nine weeks. I was worried about you; I thought you were never going to wake up."

So she had been worried about me. Yet another sign that I should know her. I was starting to get frightened. I couldn't remember a thing about this girl at all. Thinking about it, I realised that there was a large gap in my memory. I couldn't remember anything past leaving Hogwarts, and I was pretty sure that some of my time at the school was also missing. How long ago had that been? I looked back at her face. She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. I didn't want to hurt her when she seemed to have been so concerned about me. I didn't want to drive away the only person who seemed to care. But it was pointless to let her continue to hope in vain.

Trying to say it as softly as possible (and certain that the Malfoy ancestors were spinning in their graves at witnessing one of their own trying to _minimize_ another's suffering), I asked, "But who _are _you?"

It had an instant and devastating effect. She just stared at me for a minute, her eyes wide and glistening, as if the words were just sinking in. There was a flare of panic in her expression, and I felt guilty for bringing this on her, almost as if I had deliberately determined to forget her. Then she sank forwards and burst into tears. She didn't make much noise, but I could hear little yelps, as if someone was kicking a boxful of puppies around the floor. It was terrible. I wished that I'd said nothing.

And although I had no idea who she was, when she broke down in tears like that, I stared at her for a moment, perplexed, and then I started crying too. I could feel her pain. I didn't know why she was in such pain, but I could feel it. It was almost tangible. It felt as if that pain was a part of her being. And it seemed to me that I was the cause of this pain, though I didn't know how, or why.

When she saw that I was crying, she wiped her own eyes and tried to comfort me. My dulled mind was whirring. Who was she? She could not be a sister – I didn't think I had one, and besides, the bright red hair showed that she could not be related to me. Was she a friend? Or more than that? The tender look in her eyes, the practiced embrace, suggested to me that we were far closer than mere friends. So, a lover, then. Not a wife or a fiancée, for she wore no ring on her thin, elegant fingers. No wonder she was so upset. I was upset. I felt a strange emotion in my heart that I couldn't place, and I felt frustration at not knowing this person who I ought to know so well.

And I was frightened, too. I couldn't remember what had happened. The girl had told me that I had been attacked with an Unforgivable curse. When had that happened? Who had done it, and why? I couldn't remember any reason why anyone should want to torture me. My father was a powerful man. No one would be allowed to harm me so. I felt as if there was something very important that I was overlooking, something that was there, in my mind, lurking just beyond my reach.

I let her hold me. It seemed to calm her down. It did nothing for me. I was searching for a name to put to her face. The red hair had suggested one name to me, but I dismissed it. None of _that _family would come to visit me in hospital. They all hated me with a vengeance, whereas this girl seemed to have been absolutely distraught that I had been hurt and that I had been unconscious for so long. Such dedication told me that ours had not been a casual affair. Something in the way she was looking at me told me that she loved me. And though I didn't know her name, or anything about her, that fact somehow reassured me.

In the end, my sobs turned to hiccups, and the girl passed me a tissue. I snatched it, irritated. Malfoys did _not_ cry. I wondered if I could somehow modify her memory so that she would forget seeing me in such an undignified position. Hang on… _modify her memory_? Had someone done that to _me_? Was that why this girl, my lover, was absent from my mind? But, if that were true, who would want to do such a thing? What had I done to anyone to warrant such wanton destruction?

I looked up at her, and tried to scowl. "You did not just see that," I said firmly.

"What?" she laughed, shakily. "You expect me to keep quiet about seeing the ice prince heir of Malfoy in tears?" Seeing the expression on my face, she shook her head and said, "Do you really not remember who I am?" There was a plaintive look in her eyes that made me want to deny the truth, just to please her, but I knew that I could not do it.

"No," I replied, looking down at the quilt cover, feeling almost embarrassed. "I don't know who you are. And I don't remember how I got here, or what I could have been doing to make someone want to throw an Unforgivable curse at me. It's frightening me."

She looked, if anything, more upset than I felt. "It's alright," she faltered. "It's probably just the shock. I'm Ginny." That name, now she said it, seemed right. It seemed to fit her. But I didn't know who she was. That information was still hiding from my conscious mind. "You were injured when the Order – the Order of the Phoenix – was fighting the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"The Dark Lord?" I was puzzled. I remembered my father talking about him in tones of triumph, exulting that his lord and master was sure to conquer this time. I knew that this had all to do with a boy with messy black hair, a boy I knew I hated. How had I got mixed up in this? Had I been fighting alongside my father for his master? If so, why did I have a hospital bed? Why hadn't I been thrown into Azkaban? "Which side was I fighting on?"

"You were fighting with us, with the Order," 'Ginny' told me. I found it hard to believe. "You ran away from home so you didn't have to become a Death Eater. Then you joined the Order of the Phoenix to bring down the forces of evil. Everyone thought that the world would stop turning, what with Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter fighting on the same side of the Great War."

Harry Potter? Yes, he was the boy with messy hair. So I had been fighting with my enemy against my father. That made sense. That was why my mother was not here, fussing over me as much as she dared for fear of breaking a manicured nail. I was a disappointment to the Malfoy family. But evidently my actions had endeared me to the now-smiling Ginny, so perhaps I had done the right thing. I still couldn't remember all of this, which scared me, but perhaps it would come back to me. I hoped fervently that it would.

Then another woman popped her head around the door. She looked pleasantly surprised to see me awake. She wore spotless white robes, so I imagined that she must be a Healer. The Healer said, in a cheerful voice:

"Ah, so you're back with us, are you, Mr Malfoy?" I nodded, dumbstruck by the force of joviality emanating from the woman. She turned to my companion and said, "I'm afraid that your time's up, Miss Weasley."

I froze. A Weasley. I had dismissed the thought so casually earlier. But it was true. She was a member of the family my father had always told me were lower than scum, poor disgraces to pureblood wizards everywhere. So what was she doing here? There was no love lost between Malfoys and Weasleys, so how had we ever got close enough to become… well, whatever we were? This was a disaster. My father was going to kill me. What had I done?

Ginny stood up, smiling, but when she looked at me, the smile vanished. "What's up, Draco? I'll be back tomorrow, you know. I always am."

She didn't _understand_. She couldn't understand what was wrong with me. "You won't come back," I said, coldly. "I don't need visits and pity from _Weasleys_. I don't want to see you here ever again. Oh, my father will kill me." I trailed off, fear seizing my body.

She stared at me. "God, it's worse than I thought. You've reverted." I didn't have a clue what she meant. This was how I'd always been. How could she have the _nerve_ to imagine that a blood traitor like her could worm her way into the affections of a Malfoy?

"Just get out!" I snapped, my voice higher than I had intended. The girl took one look at my face and left the room, doubtless to cry some more. The Healer just stared at me, shaking her head, and muttering something I couldn't quite hear. Then she left, and I was all alone again. Ginny had gone. Then it hit me that if she didn't visit me, then no one would. I had quite effectively condemned myself to solitary confinement. Faced with this realisation I did the only thing I could. I sank back into the pillow of the bed, crying tears of pain, sorrow and anger.


	3. Redundant

**_FYI: In this Act, the first half's Ginny. When it comes to the section break, it continues as Draco. Love to Tammy for reviewing Act Two. On with the show!_**

_**Act Three**_

_**Redundant**_

"_Now I cannot speak_

_Lost my voice_

_I'm speechless and redundant_

_Cause I love you's not enough_

_I'm lost for words."_

Green Day: _Redundant_

I sat, dumbstruck, on the lumpy sofa and stared into space. This was not happening. It could not be happening. I had been wishing with all my heart that Draco would wake up for weeks. I supposed that it just proved that reality could never compare to the fantasy. Draco was supposed to open his eyes slowly, fluttering his pale eyelashes, only to be overjoyed to see me and sweep me into his arms. He wasn't supposed to stare at me as if I was an alien. He definitely wasn't supposed to have forgotten who I was. I didn't mind that so much. It was the look on his face when he spat the word _Weasley_ at me that had torn me apart.

I needed to talk to someone, but I had no one to talk to. My work friends wouldn't understand. They'd be sympathetic, but they wouldn't understand. My mum, the person I wanted to talk to more than anything else in the world, was dead. It took a crisis like this to remind me that I had lost almost everyone who had ever meant anything to me. The only brother who was still alive and speaking to me was Ron, but he would be absolutely no comfort when it came to Malfoy related matters. Nor would Harry, which left me only one option. I stood up and went to the fire, praying that when I called she would be in.

As soon as she arrived, I remembered why Hermione was a last resort. She wasn't unkind, she just _bustled_. She had the unfortunate tendency to remind me of a much younger Professor McGonagall. She sat down with me on the sofa and made me go over the whole damn soul-destroying experience, nodding occasionally and looking as if she was considering everything and thinking hard. I wanted to scream at her. How could she sit there looking so normal and trying to reassure me that everything was okay when my whole world was collapsing around me?

Hermione would always try to get to the bottom of any problem. It was a matter of pride. She was a logical person. Not that I was incapable of logical thought, but my boyfriend no longer knew who I was and didn't even want me near him. It had been a terrible blow. He had gone back to the Draco we had all known and hated before he joined the Order. And that Draco would have nothing whatsoever to do with me. And it hurt like hell, because I loved him. I did feel an enormous sense of relief when she looked at me with that light in her eyes, the one that radiates confidence. I felt justified in asking her to come over.

"A memory charm," she said simply. "So easy to point a wand and obliviate all of his most recent memories, but a little harder and a little crueler to erase you, the person he cares about most, from his mind forever. It suggests a personal attack. Before he was tortured, whoever it was must have told him that he would not remember the girl he loved, should he ever wake up. That's the only explanation _I_ can think of. It's the only way to explain the patchiness of his forgetting."

"But surely that suggests that his attacker _intended_ him to live?" I asked, incredulously. "There wouldn't be any point in erasing his memories before killing him, would there?"

"Think, Ginny," she told me. "Think of someone who would hate to have to kill Draco, but would love for him never to see you again. Someone who would rather die than see you marry him. Think about _family pride_."

"Lucius Malfoy?" I hazarded. "He wouldn't want to kill his own son. Especially since Draco is his only son."

"Got it in one, I should think," Hermione said, smiling. "If you tell the Healers that you think someone's modified his memory, they can try and get it back for him. If that fails, and he really won't see you, then write him a letter. Explain who you are. Tell him exactly what he means to you. Let him see that his only enemy is the person who has done this thing to him."

I frowned. Would Draco listen to me? The old Draco would never have valued the opinion of a Weasley over that of his father. But then, Lucius Malfoy was dead, and would never have an opinion ever again. What Hermione had said made perfect sense. I felt a burning hatred in my soul for the person who had done this to Draco. They hadn't only deprived him of the happy memories of months spent sneaking about Hogwarts and Order meetings brimming with sexual tension, they'd stolen from him a future where he could be loved. And they'd stolen that future from me, too. They'd made the only man I'd ever loved hate me.

I'd known that love hurts. I just didn't realise that it had the power to hurt this much. I knew that it was nasty and vindictive of me, but I hoped, irrationally, that this was causing Draco the same amount of pain as it was causing me. I suddenly hated him. I couldn't hate the real culprit, as he was dead and beyond my reproach. So I turned my anger upon his son. Why didn't he remember me? All I had ever done was love him. I wanted him to _hurt _for what he was doing to me. And then I cried again, my heart full of despair, knowing that I could wish forever and never get my Draco back. He was as lost to me as if he had died that day at the Manor. And being able to see him alive only intensified the pain.

-

-

-

I sat awake for a long time that night. I didn't need to sleep. By all accounts, I'd been out for nine weeks, so I'd probably rested quite enough over all that time. But I wouldn't have been able to sleep if I had wanted to. I kept thinking about Ginny. About how I didn't know her, although I knew that I should. About how I had been rude, and cruel, and driven her away, probably breaking her heart, if she truly loved me.

I'd been in shock when I'd heard she was a Weasley. I hadn't meant to be so cruel. It was as if some instinct had taken me over when my mind was too stunned to react. If I'd been thinking, I would have reasoned that if I'd joined the opposite side of the war to my father, then most of his values would no longer matter to me. And if his values no longer mattered, I could be with any girl I wanted, even if she was a Weasley. But I hadn't been thinking, and before I'd realised what I was doing, I'd driven her away. I might have broken her heart for all I knew. And the thought turned a knife in my chest, filling me with guilt.

I tried to push the feeling away. I tried to feel my old contempt for her and her family, but I failed. When had this happened? When had I stopped being a Malfoy and started being Draco? What was this Order of the Phoenix? When had I joined it? And, more to the point, when had I fallen in love with Ginny Weasley?

That thought surprised me. It was as if thinking it lifted a veil that had been over part of my mind. I loved Ginny Weasley. I hadn't realised that before. I had been too busy trying to assess her feelings for me that I had not even thought about what I might feel for her. It certainly explained the pain and despair I had felt when I realised that I had driven her away and she might not ever come back to me.

It was strange. I didn't remember how I knew her, or anything we had done together, but I could still feel some residual of the emotion that I had once felt for her. And it was driving me crazy. What sort of fool would the girl have to be to come back after what I had said to her?

So maybe I deserved the sleepless night for what I'd done to her. What I definitely didn't deserve was the treatment I got from the Healer. Obviously she couldn't neglect me – they don't do that sort of thing – but she was being very cold towards me. She probably saw me as harsh, heartless and ungrateful. After all, she'd seen Ginny sit by my bedside for those nine lonely weeks, only to be thrown out by my callous, evil self. She was bound to hate me, or if not hate, at least to have a bad opinion of me.

I turned the patented puppy dog look on her in the end because I couldn't stand the righteously angry glares she kept shooting at me. I think it might have worked, because her facial expression warmed slightly, from Antarctic to merely glacial. The glares stopped. She didn't seem particularly keen to talk to me, though, but that was alright with me, because I didn't want to have to talk. I was too busy indulging in the somewhat alien emotions of guilt and self-pity to be much bothered with her.

At some point during the day, something must have happened to change her mind about me, because by the time she came in to do her evening check and give me my dinner, her aura was just icy, and she actually deigned to speak to me.

"A letter came for you today, Mr. Malfoy," she said, stiffly, as if she would still much rather throw the food at me and leave as quickly as possible. A letter? Could it be from Ginny? I found myself hoping that it was. "A woman calling herself Hermione Granger brought it, and she seemed to be of the opinion that a memory charm of some sort had been used on you. Now, I'm not sure if that's true; the amnesia could be a secondary effect of the curse."

I'd stopped listening as soon as she'd mentioned Granger. I remembered _her_, all right; the girl that always hung round with Potter and Weasley, the little cow that had smacked me in the face during our third year. Of course I remembered that; it wasn't very often that the renowned Malfoy dignity was compromised so. But since I couldn't remember the last few months of my life, I reasoned, I could well have made my peace with Granger when I joined this 'Order of the Phoenix'. So I picked up the letter and opened it, though I was sickeningly disappointed that it had not been sent by the pretty little redhead.

There were two letters inside. One was brief and very Granger-like, the other was written in curly, scruffy handwriting that triggered something in my destroyed memory. Could that be Ginny's handwriting? I set that one aside for the moment, not wanting my hopes to be shattered any earlier than was necessary, and picked up the one from Granger.

_Malfoy,_

I smirked when I read the emotionless, laconic greeting. So, we still weren't friends. Not enemies, perhaps, but not really friends either.

_Ginny tells me that you have lost your memory. I have read up about the Cruciatus curse while you were unconscious, and while it can cause insanity, amnesia is not mentioned as a possible side-effect. The impression that I gained was that you would either be insane and incapable of any sort of thought (which I have always considered to be true of you anyway) or there would be no permanent brain damage. Hence I believe it possible that a Death Eater used a memory charm specifically targeted at removing Ginny from your mind. I've alerted the Healers to this possibility. I didn't tell them this bit since I thought you'd want me to keep it private, but it's most likely that the memory charm was the work of your father._

_Yours,_

_Granger._

I did a double-take at the bombshell at the end of the letter. My father, attack my mind in such a way? And would he really torture me beyond human endurance, leaving me in a coma for nearly two months? I didn't want to believe it, although some treacherous part of my mind told me it made sense. My father wouldn't want to kill me, his only son. I pushed the thought away, and pulled the other letter towards me. Looking at the signature at the bottom, it _was _from Ginny. I felt an irrational sense of happiness in my heart. I flattened the letter on my raised knees and smoothed it out, and then I began to read avidly.


	4. A perfect ending?

**Thanks, Silver 186 and KitKat001 for reviewing Act Three (and Act Two). Thanks for the many compliments, Kit. The twins aren't dead; they just aren't speaking to Ginny because of Draco. Perhaps Ron would take the relationship quite hard, but he and Ginny are very close, so after trying to kill Draco a few times and generally throwing his weight around, he would come around to the idea. But yes, alas, Mrs. Weasley is dead. I didn't want to have to kill her, but if she wasn't dead there was no reason why Ginny should have to turn to Hermione for help.**

**Okay, this is the same drill as the last chapter. It's Ginny till the break and then Draco afterwards. And this is the end, guys. This is very definitely the last chapter. If you think that a sequel needs writing when you get to the end, you are welcome to write one. Just e-mail me and ask first. :D**

_**Act Four**_

_**A perfect ending?**_

"_I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end."_ - Gilda Radner

I felt nervous. It was a sort of first date feeling, only a thousand times more so, because I was already madly in love with this man. I didn't know what Hermione and the Healer had said or done to make Draco agree to see me. The last time I had set eyes on his face he had been practically snarling, angry at me for defiling his privacy. He had not looked as if he would accept me any time soon. And yet, not two days later, he had asked to see me. I had been tempted to say no, to serve him right for treating me so, but I lacked both the strength and the conviction to do it. I loved him too much to reject him.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, thinking as I did so that I was being very silly. Draco was in a hospital bed. We were not going to be going anywhere. I did not need to look nice. He was not any more likely to remember me if I dressed up. And he had already seen me at my worst, in helpless tears at his bedside, with red puffy eyes and tears running down my cheeks, spoiling my make-up. It was foolish vanity, nothing more and nothing less, that made me want to look my best to go to St Mungo's to see him.

I felt as if it was my last chance with him, and in a way it was. It was all the worse because I had never done anything to him. This whole thing was unfair. But then no one said that life would be fair. If life was fair, my mum would not be dead. If life was fair, my living brothers would not shun me because of the man I loved. If life was fair, my lover would have recognised me. But life was not fair, and that was why I sat, dressed for a night out, but feeling as if I was about to face a firing squad.

I was worried for Draco. Even if Hermione was right, and his memory had been modified, he would never get it back. Memory charms could be removed by a powerful wizard, but the victim's mind was left broken. And I would never wish for Draco to be sent insane, for me. That was what brought the truth home to me; he had lost more than I had. I might not have Draco, I might never have him again, but I had the memories. He did not even have that. And if we couldn't work this out, he might never be loved again. I loved him, but I had to admit that he could be cold, arrogant and difficult. Some women might not have given him the chance that he deserved.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was twenty past four, and Draco had requested that I come at half past. I would keep to that. The day he woke up I had promised to come back. I had never broken my word to him before, and I would not now. Whether this was the last time I saw him or not, I wanted him to see me at my best, as I had been on the night he fell in love with me. Maybe it was a vain hope to trigger his shattered memories, but I didn't care. It was important to me, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.

I Apparated to a quiet alley just around the corner from the hospital, and quickly made my way there. I entered the building through the mock shop window, and found myself in the clinical busyness of St Mungo's. I knew the way to his room; after all, I had been there every day while he had been unconscious. The two days we had spent apart, when he would not see me, had been torture. The time I would have spent with him seemed to taunt me, defying me to find anything to do with those spare minutes.

And at last, I was there. I knocked at the door, and heard his precious voice tell me to come in. I felt my heart thudding in my chest. I knew it was foolish, but I was _excited_ to be seeing him again. I opened the door slowly, and stood there, looking at him. He stared at me. I could almost feel him running his eyes over my body. I felt a shiver up my spine. Was this all going to be alright after all? Could it be?

He sat on the edge of the bed. He was no longer as weak as he had been. I could see that he was getting better physically, but something in his pale eyes told me that the hole in his memory was still there. And something in my mind told me that it was always going to be there. All that we could talk about today was whether or not we could live with the problem, provided that he wanted to try. I knew I did. It was the thing I wanted most in the world, just to be with Draco.

When he spoke, my spirits rose. The voice was the voice I knew, not the sneering drawl of the mini Malfoy. Perhaps I was really going to get him back. "I got your letter." Four words, but they made me feel weak inside, simply because _he _was saying them to me. I thought briefly that I was acting like a silly love struck girl. Then I decided that there was nothing silly about being madly in love.

"Is that why you decided to give me a chance?" I made my voice slightly accusing. Much as I wanted him, I did not want to make it too easy for him. He had hurt me, however involuntarily, and there was some devilish part of me that wanted to make him pay, in some small way, for the anguish he had made me feel.

He looked at me, sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry I said what I said. I'm not myself. I really didn't know who you were, what you meant to me. I still don't. I feel… something towards you, something powerful, but I'm not sure what it is. It could be love, I don't know. I don't _remember_ ever being in love before, so I don't know what it feels like." He faltered, and I saw an emotion in his eyes that I had never seen before. Even when faced with the probability of his own death, I had never seen Draco Malfoy look vulnerable, but now, he did. It seemed strange that a man who had faced so much could be worried about offending me. I had a feeling that it was somehow going to be alright, but I suppressed it. I didn't want to hope too soon.

"You know what I said in my letter," I said, tentatively. He nodded. "What do you think?" When he just stared at me, I elaborated, my heart beating wildly, "Do you think that there's hope for us? I know you don't remember me, or anything we did together, and you may never be able to, but do you think that we could just pick up where we left off?"

He looked at me again, his eyes filled with some emotion that I couldn't place. Then he sighed, deeply. "No," he replied, fixing his gaze on me. It was impossible to tell what he thought or felt. "No, I don't think we can."

-

-

-

I felt a little worried about the meeting. I did not know whether she would be able to forgive my outburst and my insults. I had not known whether she would agree to come to me or not. And when she said she would, I was seized with a fear that she only wanted to see me so she could hurt me to my face. True, her letter had been kind, and gentle, full of love and sympathy, but I was still afraid of rejection. I was still Malfoy enough to be ruled by my pride.

The thought that I might need someone, especially someone who I could not remember even meeting, troubled me. I had never needed anyone before. But perhaps that had been my weakness. Being isolated from all other people might mean that no one was close enough to hurt me, but it also meant that no one was close enough to try and heal my pains. I needed someone. I had to come to terms with that. And the person I needed was someone I could remember nothing about. If this was truly my father's doing, I hoped that he was roasting in some dingy corner of Hell.

I smoothed out the letter on my knees again. I treasured the letter. It was the only thing I had from Ginny. It was my only clue as to who she was, the only reference I had to what this life changing relationship had been like. Since I had never known love, it was almost as if the letter had been written to another. I felt like a voyeur, as if I was reading something not really meant for me. And in a way it was true. The letter had been written to another Draco Malfoy. I wondered if Ginny realised that without my memories I was not the same person she had known.

_Dear Draco,_

_I know you do not remember who I am, but I remember you. You are not the same boy that you were at school. Your outburst at the hospital was typical of the old Draco, and I was frightened that you had forgotten who you are. Do you know that you are a hero? That even the Minister of Magic has commended your actions against the Dark side? Do you remember that your father threatened to kill you? The people with the opinions you voiced yesterday are no longer your friends. They would kill you on sight. I, however, along with the rest of the Order, know you and respect you. Some of us, my foolish self included, actually like you._

_I hope you come round from this shock. You did hurt me yesterday, you know. Would you like to be called a Malfoy? No, you don't need to answer; I know you don't like it. You are Draco, as you have told me so many times. Just Draco. I appreciate that. You are a person to me, so I should be a person to you, not a mere Weasley. I forgive you on the grounds that you were not fully yourself. I know that you may never remember me, but I hope that we can at least try to rebuild the life we used to have._

_It is a shame that your memory is gone. There are so many memories that I would love to be able to share with you still. For instance, there is the… but no, none of these things will mean anything to you any more. Not even the moments before the last battle, when you told me that you loved me. I can't ask you if you meant it, because I suppose you won't be able to tell me. Please let me see you. I know things look bad, but they can only get better, can't they?_

_Yours, with love,_

_Ginny_

The letter still brought tears to my eyes with the combination of sadness and hope, comfort and gentle rebuke. It was touching, the obvious devotion that I could practically _feel_ in the words on the page. If I didn't know better, I would say that the simple piece of parchment covered with neat green scrawl had touched my heart. I also felt a strange, smouldering rage that these memories that she alluded to would never be open to me. I had lost something, I had known that since I had woken up, but it had taken the letter to make me realise exactly how much.

I looked at the clock. I had told her to visit at half past four, and it was twenty past. No, I hadn't _told_ her, I had asked. There was no knowing whether she would be here or not. I hoped that she would. There was no way that I was going to let the last words I said to her be angry words of rejection. She didn't deserve that. I knew that from the letter alone. And in my rational mind, I knew that she would come. But underneath that, I worried. I was scared that I had thrown away the only love that had ever been offered me.

I could hear footsteps in the corridor. Someone was coming this way. Could it be her? I felt tightness in my chest. I wanted it to be her. I wanted to talk to her, to finally see her before the suspense and my nerves drove me mad. I knew that she was not yet late. She might come exactly on time, in which case I had another… seven and a half minutes left to wait. Every minute that passed seemed like an hour. The time mocked me. Even time was trying to keep Ginny from me.

There was a knock at the door. I started, but regained my composure quickly and called, "Come in." She did. I looked up and was stunned. I had underestimated the girl the last time I had seen her. She was not merely pretty, she was almost beautiful. I stared. I couldn't help it. I ran my eyes over every inch of her. This girl, this lovely woman, she was mine. And what was more, she was almost begging to keep things that way. Short of wondering if she had lost her mind, I could have no objection.

She didn't speak, and the silence quickly became intolerable, so I choked out, "I got your letter." I wondered if I could fill those four pitiful words with the incredible depth of the feelings I had about the letter and the letter writer. I saw her brown eyes light up, so perhaps I succeeded. Or maybe the fact that I had said some civil words to her made her happy. I didn't know. I only knew that, at that moment, I would have done anything to keep that smile on her face and that light in her eyes.

"Is that why you decided to give me a chance?" she asked, accusingly. I flinched. The words hurt me. My rejection of her had obviously caused her a lot of pain. I felt disgusted at myself, and I felt a deep and overwhelming sadness born of the fear that she might not let me say all that I needed to say. She might not want to hear it. She might walk away and leave me here.

The words tumbled out of my mouth, far too fast, in my desperation to say as much as I could in the time allowed. "I'm sorry I said what I said. I'm not myself. I really didn't know who you were, what you meant to me. I still don't. I feel… something towards you, something powerful, but I'm not sure what it is. It could be love, I don't know. I don't _remember_ ever being in love before, so I don't know what it feels like." I paused, gasping for breath. The emotional outpouring had tired me. I had not planned to say most of it, but I knew that all of it was true.

"You know what I said in my letter," she said, with pleading in her caramel eyes. I nodded, careful not to allow any of the emotion attached to the letter to show in my face. "What do you think?" I stared at her, slackly. I didn't know what she meant. I thought and felt so many things with regards to that letter. Seeing my confusion, she clarified, "Do you think that there's hope for us? I know you don't remember me, or anything we did together, and you may never be able to, but do you think that we could just pick up where we left off?"

It was at that moment that I knew that everything was going to be alright. The unease and misery of the previous couple of days had evaporated. Ginny's air of desperation convinced me that she wanted to sort this out as much as I did. The joy flooded my heart and my soul, but none of the emotion reached my eyes. Many years of indoctrination by Lucius Malfoy had made me adept at hiding my emotions until I wanted them to be shown. Now I knew that she was mine, I couldn't resist the chance to just play one last game with her.

In my best indifferent tone, I said, "No. No, I don't think we can." The look on her face was everything I could have wished for. Horror, disbelief and desperation mingled on her expressive freckled features. I would have kept the deceit up for longer, but then I saw tears beginning to form in her eyes, and I couldn't stand it any more.

"We can't pick up where we left off, but I wonder," I paused for dramatic effect, wondering if she would kill me for this later. "I wonder, Miss Weasley, if you would like to start all over again."

The beautiful light in her eyes was priceless. I would have spent the entire Malfoy fortune at once if someone had told me that there was a way to keep her so happy forever. She didn't reply. She didn't need to. She crossed the yards that lay between us and sat with me on the bed, and as she looked at me I could feel love. Then she kissed me, and it was wonderful. No words exist to describe that feeling. It felt like the first kiss of my life. And I suppose that, in a very real sense, it was.

_**-Finite-**_


End file.
